Lost Endings
by PoptartProdigy
Summary: Sometimes, we don't get to say goodbye. Not everybody has a death scene long enough for some dramatic last words. This is for all the people who we didn't see dying.
1. Dairren Loren

Dairren Loren was sitting up with Teyrn Cousland and Arl Howe when it happened.

The door slammed open and several of Howe's soldiers burst into the room.

"What's going on?" snapped the Teyrn, rising to his feet. "What-?"

He cut off with a strangled gasp as the Arl plucked out his dagger and almost delicately sunk it into his liege's side.

Dairren had never been in a true fight before; his practice duel with the Teyrn's second child had been the most intense experience of his life.

He leapt to his feet nonetheless, pulling his dagger and diving towards the treacherous Arl, determined to defend his liege with his life.

But Howe was just so _fast_, and he moved out of the way so quickly. Dairren never felt the blade that ended his life; he only understood that suddenly, his cheek was against the cold stones of the floor. He could see Howe speaking; a sneer on his lips, which moved without any sound seeming to come out. Edges started to soften and blur, and Dairren felt his eyes closing.

Something that looked like a man in red-splattered white burst into the room, killing Howe's men and forcing the traitor to flee.

Dairren smiled as the vision helped the Teyrn to his feet and left. Kind of his mind, to send him a vision of salvation as he lay dying.

His last thoughts were of his mother.

* * *

_A/N: This, obviously, is what I suppose happened is you didn't seduce Dairren. Ignominiously knifed by Rendon Howe in a futile defense of his liege. This story is something that I'll be posting to as new ideas occur to me; feel free to offer suggestions on various characters._


	2. Iona

Iona couldn't sleep, that night.

Thoughts of her darling Amethyne kept racing through her head, and eventually the elven servant rose from her bed, dressed herself in a heavier gown, and left the home of the Cousland family.

She stepped lightly along the cobblestones, grateful indeed that she had remembered to wear slippers. There was little doubt that the stones were as chilly as the night. She wrapped herself more tightly and shivered.

She heard the ring of steel and the shouting of men in the distance, and realized that more soldiers must have arrived. Doubtless they were training hard to face the darkspawn; she could remember the awful racket Adaia Tabris had raised when she was training her child how to fight.

She shivered again at the thought of darkspawn, and told herself to think of other things. The creatures were not here, and could not touch her here; that was why the armies were gathering to go stop, to stop the vile monsters.

Iona made it to the streets surrounding the main hall, and frowned as she heard true screaming. What was going on? Had somebody been injured? Surely…surely the darkspawn had not attacked!

Then a group of soldiers came around the corner with blades drawn. Iona approached, waving to get their attention.

"Excuse me? Is there trouble? I heard the noise and thought…" She trailed off and her eyes widened as the men come into view. "Is- is that _blood-?_"

The leader of the men grabbed her by the shoulder and drew his blade back before ramming it to the hilt into her stomach. As the pain burned up from the wound, Iona could only gape, staring into the face of the man that had killed her.

Just as quickly as he had stabbed her, he yanked the blade out and continued on, not sparing her a second glance. Iona fell back against the wall of the main hall, hands falling useless across her belly. She couldn't stand. She couldn't think. She couldn't _breathe_. Why-?

Her thoughts were cut off as somebody outside the castle decided siege weapons were in order. A burning missile from a catapult smashed the top of one of the towers on the main hall, and Iona was smashed beneath the rubble.

* * *

Sergeant Eric cursed as the falling rubble caught a few of his men. Why were those fools using siege weapons? There were friendly soldiers within the walls.

"Sergeant?" asked one of his soldiers. "Should we turn back?"

Eric shook his head without having to think very hard. "No. The nine of us will be more than enough."

He continued on towards the castle. How hard could a bunch of spoiled, sleeping nobles fight, anyway?

* * *

_A/N: I am a very, very depressing man. That said, Iona gets a bit of karmic justice here._

_I got the number of soldiers by counting the number of people you kill or find dead on your way out; two trying to kill you in your rooms, two trying to break into your parents' rooms, one who Oriana apparently managed to kill before dying herself, and four in the entrance hall._


	3. The Revered Mother of Lothering

She was in her sanctum, receiving a petitioner. She sighed in annoyance. Asking for a blessing? Without paying- ah, making a donation to the Chantry? What was this fool thinking? She would do no such thing.

She sent him away and leaned back in her seat. Perhaps it was time to leave after all. The Chantry saw fewer visitors each day, after all. There was little point in remaining for the darkspawn.

That was when she heard the screaming.

She leaned forward, frowning. "What is that?" she demanded, pointing to one of her templar guards. "Go and find out this instant."

The man bowed and retreated from her study, only to bounce off Ser Bryant as he practically charged into the room.

"Ser Bryant, what is the meaning of this foolishness?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Revered Mother, the darkspawn have arrived," he answered. "We need to leave now."

"The darkspawn?" she gasped. "No! No, they can't come now!"

"I know," he agreed, "we are unprepared, but nonetheless, the time has come. I will gather the villagers-"

"Why," continued the woman, "we'll have to rush just to get the collections chest, let _alone_ my books, and I don't know what we'll be doing about the rest of the library…"

Bryant stared for a moment as she continued to mutter about her possessions before his lip curled and he turned to the templars in the room.

"You two, with me, now," he ordered, and strode away without a backward glance.

The Revered Mother, already bending to get at her personal stash of coins, didn't see them until they were gone.

She didn't care until she was finished collecting her personal favorite books, left her sanctum, and found the Chantry empty.

"Well!" she said. "I never!" Laboring under her possessions, and muttering about the uselessness of templars – having to carry her things by herself, _ridiculous_ – she moved to the door, hearing movement outside.

"Ser Bryant," she panted, finally making it out, "I _hope_ that you have an explana-"

The darkspawn outside did not react favorably to the sudden appearance of something that wasn't one of them. The Revered Mother of Lothering died when the nearest one stabbed her in the heart on reflex.

She was fortunate that she escaped the fate of a Broodmother.

* * *

_A/N: A _slight_ amount of personal bias on my part against the..._esteemed_ Revered Mother may have slipped through here. I find I have little sympathy for those who refuse blessings because they haven't been paid. Seriously, tell her you can't pay. Literally, tell her that you have nothing to give. She'll sigh over how frequently this is happening with apparent sympathy. When you ask for her blessing, she'll snap at you about people who haven't donated asking for the Maker's blessing and refuse. Instant unfavorite character, just add pettiness!_

_In any event, I was merciful. She's a bit old to bear children, I imagine, but the darkspawn almost certainly would have tried anyway. Fortunate indeed that she surprised them and got stabbed for her troubles._

_And no, the petitioner in this chapter is not the Warden. They won't be appearing in this story...yet, anyway._


End file.
